


Strawberries and Cream

by Coraleeveritas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Jaime/Brienne, Fluff, Gen, Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coraleeveritas/pseuds/Coraleeveritas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walda goes to Wimbledon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberries and Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandwichesYumYum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandwichesYumYum/gifts).



> I wrote this a few months back for the lovely and amazing Sandwiches and as Wimbledon is currently on my tv it felt like the best time to post it.
> 
> It's a little different from my usual stories, there's only a mention of Jaime/Brienne in here, but Walda always needs a little bit of love, I think :)

Her dogeared guidebook had promised, in the strictest sense of the word, that it would be no more than a fifteen minute walk from the station. As had the man on the telephone when she'd booked her tickets many months ago, though twenty minutes after departing the pre rush hour tube Walda Bolton-Frey was wondering if she hadn't taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. Glancing up from under the wide brim of her pink and black patterned hat, she took another look around the expensively leafy suburb, the open space stretching out in front of her a world away from her inner city apartment block, the sun already rising half way to boiling point despite the early hour. She had been here only once before, back when her late mother had been in the Frey family's good graces, no more than eight years old but the day had barely faded from her memory. The smell of fresh cut grass, the roar of the crowd, the familiar green and purple everywhere she looked, Walda hadn't been able to stop going over and over the details in her head, boring her brothers and sisters rigid for weeks after the event. And now, after some prompting from an unexpected friend, she could almost taste that strange mix of sweat, success and strawberries on her tongue again. If, and only if, she could figure out which direction she was heading in.

She paused briefly at the next junction to let a couple of cars turn, juggling with the old guidebook, a street map from the station and her all but useless phone, when, by some strike of luck, a jogger pulled up at her side. Attempting to offer the stranger a hopeful smile, Walda's manners disappeared in a flash when she caught sight of a pair of distinctively memorable green eyes framed by a heavy beard and messy man bun.

"I'm clearly lost," she announced to no one in particular as a small line of patient vehicles formed in front of her, rising up onto her toes as if the extra inches would give her the ability to see above the trees and shrubs lining the road. "And now I'm seeing things. Why did I listen to Brienne?"

"Excuse me," a rumbling male voice interrupted her one sided conversation, noticing that the jogger had removed his ear buds and was looking down at her with a quizzical expression. "You wouldn't happen to know Brienne _Tarth_ , would you?"

Walda nodded, ignoring her predicament for a second. "We're friends. Sort of."

"Small world," he laughed, wiping a palm on his shirt before offering it to her. "I'm Daven Lannister. I'm related to Brienne. Sort of."

"Walda...Frey." It had been a long time since she'd used her maiden name and it felt strange in her mouth despite her widowhood turning from months to years. "They haven't set a date yet, then?"

Daven shook his head. He was _almost_ as handsome as Jaime, Walda thought absently, even under all that hair. "Still deciding. My mother has given up hope that we'll have a wedding this year. Or next."

"Replace 'deciding' with 'bickering' and that sounds exactly like them," she agreed, finally finding her smile. "Daven, you wouldn't happen to know if there's a tennis club anywhere around here?"

"Sure. It's about half an hour back the way you've come." She must have looked crestfallen as he didn't waste a second before trying to make her feel better. "They don't start today until midday, you've got loads of time to get there and-"

"Buy some strawberries and cream?"

"Exactly," he replied with another easy going grin, the sentiment twinkling in his eyes. If she had been talking with Jaime, Walda would have wondered if he was laughing at her but Daven seemed to be a much more laid back soul than his cousin. But, even with that in mind, she really didn't have too much time to spare if she wanted the whole experience. Walda was just about to wish him a nice day and continue on her, slightly longer than expected, journey when he took a check of his wrist, the Fitbit band looking near identical to the ones she'd seen Jaime and Brienne with from time to time, and glanced up the slight incline she was just about to climb. "I can walk with you for a bit, if you'd like."

"Can you keep me from getting lost?" she asked semi-seriously in return, ready to laugh at her general inability to follow directions, but before Walda could follow that up and tell him that she really would appreciate the company, he rushed to explain that he was staying locally and could do with a cool down from his workout.

The walk back to the station and beyond was much more pleasant with someone to talk to, the lack of uncomfortable silence between them coming a great surprise, though Walda soon suspected that they could both, given the opportunity, 'talk the hind legs off a donkey,' as her mother would say. They discussed work at first, he was a landscape gardener, which explained the arms and the tan, she thought, crashing on a friend's sofa while he helped overhaul the outside space on a nearby housing development. Her working life revolved around writing cookery books and an online food blog, feeling proud to be able to share a secret in the shape of interest from The Winterfell Gazette who had been in touch about a regular, weekly column. And by the time they reached the first clear sign that she was, finally, heading in the right direction, they'd already moved past the changeability of Northern weather, mutual friends and started on tennis.

It wasn't a great shock to learn that the Lannister family always had a handful of court side tickets for each championship, but it was certainly more interesting to hear Daven talk about waiting for hours online to buy a ground pass, preferring to sit on the hill and watch the games on the big screen, surrounded by fans and fun than get sucked into the status of being the right name in the right place. Walda had scrimped and saved, and been tremendously lucky, to have an outer court ticket for two consecutive days, her quarterfinal centre seat coming from a courting sponsor, a gift she hadn't let herself think about long enough to feel guilty for accepting. Brienne had done enough of that, though, when they'd discussed her holiday.

Time seemed to fly by as they agreed to disagree on their favourite players and some of the finer points of the game, Walda all the while trying to keep up with Daven's longer strides, right up until they were loitering outside one of the grand, old, stone homes that seemed to be the norm there. He told her just to keep walking straight ahead as he fumbled for his keys, not to veer off the main road as there wasn't any real shortcuts, and she wouldn't be able to miss it.

"Have a strawberry for me, Walda," Daven called out as she watched him go into the house, waving from the side of the road.

"See you at the wedding."

Several minutes Walda heaved a sigh of relief as Daven's judgement turned out to be perfect, joining the end of a winding queue that stretched back towards the houses a good hundred yards or so, all waiting to move through the opening turnstiles and into the hustle and bustle of sporting history in the making. She occupied her time, as she often did in shops and banks alike, with working through new cake recipes in her head. Grateful once again for the shade granted by her hat and liberally applied sunscreen as she stood in the growing heat, Walda found herself bouncing between a tiered, fruit cake with silver accents and vanilla cream frosting, perfect for a wedding, and a chocolate lime sponge, wondering how easy it would be to construct the latter into a tree or garden scene to send to Daven as thanks.

Experiencing a moment of panic when she couldn't find her ticket, the steward not even flinching when she had to empty half of the contents of her bag in front of him until the cardboard rectangle was found, Walda attempted to make light of the situation but her words disappeared on the crowded air as soon as she squeezed through a turnstile clearly made for a smaller woman. She moved onto the obligatory bag check, smiling at the stone faced security guard, before stepping into a beam of light and coming face to face with the two engraved monuments to every singles winner for the last century or so.

Gazing up in awe for a minute or two as those around her took photos or posed in front of the confirmation that their favourites were among the very best, Walda only looked, trusting in her memory and not needing to show off to her friends at a later date. Besides, she had seen her personal all time favourite play all those years ago, and seeing that name now decorating the marble multiple times made her smile far more than a picture would.

When she grew tired of getting jostled by newcomers, Walda made her way towards the the overflowing cafe to pick up a bowl of famous strawberries and cream. She would have likely eaten them all by the time play started but there would be opportunities to get more during a break or change of ends. The line for food and drink was already out of the door and onto the terrace despite the empty courts, though, with her mouth watering just watching the staff fill and leave the treat under cooling lamps, she didn't really mind too much of a delay. After all she'd already spent half of her morning waiting in one queue or another.

Some time later, after weaving around several small groups of animator spectators, Walda joined yet another line in order to be directed to her seat, impatiently popping one of the delicious strawberries in her mouth before wilting or melting could occur. Calling out her thanks through stained lips as a couple let her pass on the stairs, careful not to hit them with her oversized bag, she near collapsed into her seat for the day, two rows from the front, smiling to herself at how happy this place was making her feel.

There really was little better than tennis with strawberries and cream.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
